A Midnight Smack

I profess to having absolutely no phobias.

There is nothing upon this earth that truly scares me.

Don't get me wrong, there are things that I am careful to avoid. A healthy respect for self-preservation is no weakness; large rabid dog thingies, live electrical wires and Ivan after "Burrito Night" come to mind. However, I can think of nothing that really gives me a case of the heebie-jeebies.

That being said, if there was one thing that can be said to worry me, it would be the fear of being accused of being predictable or taken for granted.

Everyone who has read my blog or book thingies knows that one of the great joys in my life is that of smacking. I can think of few things that give me greater pleasure than smacking Tiger Lily. I confess that the feeling of my paw connecting with her unnaturally large face after an unjustified whine just fills my stony heart with happiness. But what you may not be aware of is the fact that unlike most felines, I am capable of embracing change.

If I spent all my days simply waiting around for Tiger Lily to whine, I (and my readers) would soon become listless and bored. Therefore, I make a conscious effort to mix things up on occasion.

So in the interest of keeping things fresh, I have embarked on a new campaign.

I will no longer smack Tiger Lily whenever she whines.

I now smack her at other times too.

I have also found new and inventive methods for deploying The Mighty Smacking Paw:

 There is "The Bushsmack". Simple but effective, I hide in the artificial plant (Plasticus Verbanium) in the hallway. As she walks by on her constant quest for something to complain about, I rustle one of the branches as thought there might be a mouse thingy attempting to hide. When she goes to investigate, she is met with a swipe that rattles her noggin and sends her into hiding.

"The Hammer 'O The Hamper" takes advantage of her predilection to rolling in dirty laundry. This requires both skill and timing. She has grown somewhat wary of late and has taken to approaching anything that may contain a small tuxedo cat with great care and caution. The other day I noticed that as she approached the half-filled hamper, she approached it slowly. Examining every lump and fold carefully before abandoning herself to full blown laundry lolling.. What she failed to examine was the cabinet that sits about four tailspans above the aforementioned hamper. Had she looked up, she would have beheld a black and white feline awaiting his moment of glory. As soon as she was fully involved in rolling around amongst the two legger's dirty delicates, I dropped upon her like a coconut nailing a native. Do not worry, though I fell from a great height, between the laundry and a very startled and slightly chubby gray tabby cat, my fall was broken and I suffered no ill effects.

But my favorite technique has to be "The Pillow Fight". Tiger Lily spends most evenings perched upon the pillow behind the female two legger's head thingy.  This requires my utmost stalking skills combined with healthy doses of sneakiness and subterfuge.

I slink into the bedroom, moving from shadow to shadow. While the female is distracted by her iPad thingy, I sneak under the bed, quietly crawling until I am between the wall and the headboard. In a flash, I reach over the headboard and pop Tiger Lily square in the brain pan. With a mighty yowl she bolts from the bed (leaving massive scratches across the shoulders of the female). When performed correctly, this results in the female banishing Tiger Lily from the bedroom for the rest of the evening as well as leaving Yours Truly undetected beneath the bed.

 All is now right in my Kingdom.

I believe I am now safe from any accusations of predictability.     

I hope everyone has a very happy and blessed New Year filled with amusement and mayhem!

Claus for Concern

In my opinion, one of the most disturbing traits that two leggers have is that of glorifying criminals and criminal activity.

Their history is filled with stories of individuals who became famous and celebrated because of their anti-social behavior. Robin Hood, Jesse James, Butch Cassidy, John Dillinger and Justin Bieber, just to name a few.

However, there is one that stands above the rest. His criminal career and list of offenses is longer than that of any other ne'er-do-well in the annals of man. His nefarious empire spans the entire globe and affects every society on Earth. He has thousands upon thousands of willing and unwilling accomplices.

Though his description and crimes are widely known, he has never been arrested, never been indicted, never spent a day in jail.

The location of his evil lair is so well known that millions of children write letters to him every year!

Of course I speak of  the master criminal known as "Santa Claus". According to the FBI, his aliases include: Saint Nicholas, Kris Kringle, Father Christmas, St. Nick, Pere Noel, Nicky Da Nose (in New Jersey) and Sinterklaus among others.

I have researched the crimson criminal and discovered that his offenses include:
31,658,496,637,894,156,627,731,816,614,003 counts of "breaking and entering".
792 counts of "unlawful imprisonment" (the elves he uses as slave labor in his evil lair and sweatshop).
11 counts of "animal cruelty and endangerment" (forcing reindeer to pull his obese carcass around)
Numerous counts of "fraud" and "embezzlement".
97counts of "felonious jollity".

Every year he employs thousands of decoys that go out to department stores to confuse the authorities.

Well if the FBI, CIA, DEA, ATF, DHS or any other tri-lettered government agency won't do anything to put an end to the criminal reign of the felonious fatso, I will......

This year I have set a trap.

It is gloriously simple in its sheer complexity.

The criminal Kringle is always drawn to the large green cat toy that the two leggers insist on calling the "Christmas Tree". On Christmas Eve, Ivan will be hidden among the packages at the base of the tree thingy.  Jaq will be sitting on the back of the couch softly singing various Christmas carols to put Santa at ease. I have already tied up Tiger Lily with several strands of lights and intend to hang her in the bay window to provide a festive atmosphere (hopefully she won't yowl as loud as she did last year when I plug her in). As for myself, I will be concealed deep among the boughs of the tree thingy.

When Santa approaches the tree, Ivan will jump out and commence to chewing on the fat man's ankles. As the festive felon fights to extricate himself from Ivan's merciless maw, with a mighty MROWR!!!!! I shall leap from my place of coniferous concealment directly upon his noggin causing him to drop in a dead faint.

I figure that anyone who subsists on a diet consisting entirely of milk and cookies should be ripe for a massive coronary or at least a minor stroke.

While he is out, we will tie him up with ribbon and gag him with a Christmas stocking.

Thus we will bag the bulbous burglar.

That'll teach him to bring me coal three years in a row.

From the Kingdom of Cujo, I and my minions would like to wish all of you a very merry Christmas and a bountiful New Year. 

Seven Card Cujo

Every now and again, the male two legger enjoys getting together with several other male two leggers. They sit around a large table, drink beer, look at small rectangular pieces of paper and exchange money.

At first, I ignored this activity. There was no chaos and very little bloodshed, therefore it held no interest to me.

However, after a while I came to the realization that they were involved in some sort of game.

Now as a feline, I am a huge fan of games. Games are not only amusing, they also serve as a means of displaying ones superiority over lesser intellects.

As is my way, I decided to research this game that the held such fascination for the male.

The game in question is called "Poker".

This should not be confused with a game I already play called "Poke Her". Poke Her is simply the act of walking by Tiger Lily and giving her a poke in the nose. It is very amusing, but seldom involves any sort of strategy.

 There are many different forms of the game, but for the most part they all involve the portioning out of a predetermined number of small rectangular pieces of paper called "cards". Each card thingy has either a number (1-10),  a picture of a royal personage (Curiously, I am not featured at all), or the letter ''A". In addition, each card thingy has one of four symbols displayed in each corner. The four symbols consist of a red heart, a red diamond, a black clover and a black upside-down heart on a stick.

 After secretly examining their card thingies, the players then decide how much their particular combination of card thingies is worth. Using a complicated series of gestures, words and strategies, they attempt to convince the other players that they are holding the best combination at that moment. Sometimes they also try to convince the other players that they are not holding the best cards and thereby try to dupe the other players into throwing more money into a losing cause.

It is all very complicated and I will not bore you with details.

That being said, I saw great potential in forming my own game of Poker.

While the two leggers were at work, I called my fellow felines together and invited (ordered) them to take part in my new game.

Obviously the game we played would be somewhat different from that of the two leggers. Where the two leggers used a deck of 52 cards, we could find only 14 under the couch and three under the icebox thingy. Other than the credit card I have hidden in the kitty carrier, we had no money, but I told everyone to bring all their valuable possessions to use as stakes.

I dealt out the 17 cards evenly. Four for each of them, five for me (it was my deck after all). Jaq immediately bet an old gym sock. Ivan saw the gym sock and hid in the bathroom for the next five minutes (he's odd that way). After convincing Ivan to rejoin the game, I raised Jaq's bet by a catnip mousie thingy and a dessicated moth I'd been saving for a snack. Tiger Lily was unsure of her cards so I folded her. Ivan was still confused and sat there chewing on one of his cards until losing my patience, I smacked him and he hid in the tub again. In his absence, I exercised my right as the dealer and bet for him. I assumed he thought he had good cards and bet everything he had. This amounted to a Q-Tip, two plastic milk jug rings, a shapeless mass that may or may not have been a dust bunny in a former life and a bottle cap he named "Steve".

Now came the time to reveal our cards and determine a winner.

Jaq had a "Canadian" (four A's).

Ivan had a "Kardashian" (all diamonds, but no heart)

But none of them could beat my "San Francisco Flat Tire" (four queens and a jack).

I declared the game a success and plan to hold another one soon.

On a side note, Ivan was very disappointed that the "Royal Flush" he had in the bathroom didn't count.

The Paw of Fate

While going through my email the other day, I came across one that sparked my interest.

It read:
Dearest Cujo,
    I have been reading lately about animals that seem to have some kind of "sixth sense". Some animals have been able to tell when someone has cancer, or is about to go into diabetic shock. Some act strange just prior to a natural disaster or cataclysm. I even read one story about a cat at a nursing home who could tell when a resident was about to pass on.
   I am sure that as Supreme Dictator, High Poobah and Benevolent Tyrant of All Universes (known and unknown), you would have some insight into this seemingly unexplainable phenomenon.
        Your Devoted Minion,
                            Cuddles McBloodletter

Thank you Cuddles for your question.

Once again I shall spread some fertilizer upon the barren soil of two legger knowledge in the hopes that the seeds of wisdom may begin to sprout.

Throughout history there have been stories of animals having special senses. Dog thingies barking and howling just prior to an earthquake, rats vacating a doomed ship before it sails, birds vanishing before a storm, Charlie Sheen leaving the cast of "Two and A Half Men".......the list goes on and on.

I am here to tell you that there is absolutely nothing "supernatural" about any of this. Supernatural is simply a word that two leggers use because it is anathema for them to ever admit that they can't figure something out.

Take the stories about dog thingies barking and howling just before the advent of an earthquake. Dogs barking and howling? Really? Barking and howling is pretty much all they do when they aren't sleeping, cleaning themselves or sniffing each others' butts.

However, I'd like to focus on the four leggers that are accredited with diagnosing disease or predicting the deaths of two leggers.

I have personally witnessed this phenomenon on several occasions.

Just last week while the male two legger was eating the last muffin, Ivan predicted that he would soon suffer from spontaneous hemorrhaging of his left ankle and subsequent tummy growls. Within thirty seconds his prediction came true after he bit the ankle and ate the muffin while the male searched for bandages.

I have an innate talent for predicting chronic insomnia. I can personally guarantee that every time the two leggers neglect to close the bedroom door when they retire for the evening, sleeplessness on their part will ensue. Sometimes, I can even predict it by simply staring at their picture while Jaq sings a funeral dirge.

 I have also been known to predict high blood pressure and male pattern baldness.

One of the more sensational stories I have heard was a news story about a cat in a Michigan nursing home that could predict the impending deaths of elderly residents. It seems that every time a patient was about to die, the cat, whom the staff had named "Val" (short for "Valkyrie, Bringer of Death and Other Gloomy Stuff), would enter the doomed patient's room, jump up on their bed and yowl loudly for a few minutes before calmly walking out with tail straight in the air.

First of all, any feline with a reputation as a harbinger of mortal doom would by his very presence, probably become a self-fulfilling prophesy.

Plus, consider the target-rich environment.

The odds speak for themselves.

The Impractical Joker

I have observed that there are many different forms of humor.

Different types of humor appeal to different people.

One type is "slapstick". This refers to the classic physical humor of folks falling down, hitting each other with pies or bricks, or any misadventure involving fireworks.

Puns are another form of humor. Puns involve plays on words and are also my two legger's favorite.

British humor is a combination of the two listed above. The British are funny by nature and are the only culture able to combine the two.

Germans and Russians have no discernible sense of humor and have often shot those who suggest they might.

Canadians have a great style of humor called "Funnyeh", but only Canadians get it. In fact every Canadian joke ever written ends with the word "Funnyeh?"

There are many other forms of humor. Too many variations to list. However, there is one that is unquestionably the lowest, most despicable and most despised:

The practical joke.

The practical joke is used to scare, startle or humiliate its victim. Its sole purpose is to cause pain and embarrassment. It often causes physical as well as spiritual pain. Generally, the only person who finds it funny is the one perpetrating it. With the advent of YouTube, FaceBook and other social media with capital letters in the middle of their name, it has taken on a whole new aspect by recording and transmitting the victim's humiliation to a world-wide audience.

The practical jokester is truly an unfeeling, self-serving and narcissistic individual who cares only for their own amusement and entertainment.

Therefore I love practical jokes.

That being said, not all grasp the concept.

I speak of course, of Ivan.

Then again, Ivan has never grasped any concept. I assure you that if a concept coated in Super-Glue and maple syrup, wearing a suit made of velcro, suddenly jumped into Ivan's paw, it would simply slide right through like an eel coated in Vaseline.

However, that does not keep the big lug from trying.

I speak of this because Ivan has decided to become the world's greatest practical joker.

One of two things will come of this:
A. Ivan will succeed in pulling off a truly great practical joke.
B. Ivan will fail miserably offering me an opportunity to mock him mercilessly.

It's a "win/win" if you ask me.   

His first attempt was directed at Tiger Lily. He followed her around the house for several hours awaiting his opportunity. Finally, he saw his chance. As she walked past the open door of the hall closet, he gave her a sudden push and slammed the door. He then scampered down the hall giggling.

Now to the uninitiated this may sound cruel and heinous indeed. But, truth be told, Tiger Lily is a very solitary cat who loves nothing more than to be left in quiet dark space with nothing to distract her from her whiny thoughts.

Jaq was next on his "hit list". Knowing that Jaq often naps on a towel on the bathroom vanity, Ivan snuck very quietly into the bathroom. Spying the edge of the towel overhanging the edge of the countertop, Ivan plotted his pounce. His plan was to land just to the left of her and startle the litter nuggets out of her. Yelling "BOOGA BOOGA!!!" Ivan made a mighty leap!

However, Jaq, who was peacefully sleeping in the bay window (three rooms away) remained unfazed.

Mid-pounce, Ivan realized that his intended victim was absent. As he landed (in front of the mirror), he discovered a large orange tabby was leaping at him while also yelling "BOOGA BOOGA!" Ivan immediately poofed and bolted. He then spent the next three hours under the bed cowering in fear.

Believing in the old adage of "two strikes and you're out", (I know it's supposed to be three strikes, but two is the highest he can count) Ivan gave up his quest.

The two leggers returned a few hours later, let Tiger Lily out of the closet and wiped the skid marks from the bathroom counter.

Later that evening we had our nightly "family time". This is the time of evening when the two leggers curl up on the couch and watch the talking box thingy. I lay upon my throne, Jaq sits on the female's lap, Tiger Lily watches from the half wall behind the couch and Ivan naps upon the coffee table. As the evening wore on, Ivan slowly lapsed into such a relaxed state that his body liquefied and he began to "flow" off of the table. He awoke just as his body gained critical vertical momentum. He panicked and scrambled to arrest his fall. In his frantic scrabbling, he managed to send the large ceramic bowl  that serves as the coffee table centerpiece flying across the room. The resulting crash caused Tiger Lily to fall off the wall, Jaq sunk her claws into the female's lap as she leaped in poofy panic and the male even spilled his beer in the ensuing chaos.

Perhaps I underestimated Ivan's comedic potential.....

Tomorrow I will introduce him to "slapstick".

Tiger Lily will play the "stick".

Scavenger Hunt

Today I found myself suffering from acute boredom.

The two leggers cleaned my house earlier and left no wine or beer glasses out for me to break. All the knock knacks were placed out of reach. Tiger Lily was hiding somewhere, so even the pleasant diversion of smacking her around was denied me.

I considered pulling a toy from the "Box O' Amusements", but in a fit of friskiness last night, I broke one of my toys and only 372 remain. It would be foolhardy to risk breaking another until the two leggers replace the broken one.

I sat in the bay window, thinking to verbally abuse the squirrel thingy, but alas, the Outer Kingdom was quiet and the squirrel was nowhere to be seen.

Even the male two legger foaming at the mouth and screaming at a football game failed to amuse me.

Suddenly it occurred to me. The two leggers often amuse themselves by searching through the house for lost items. These items are most often things like car keys, screwdrivers, wallets, pens, scraps of paper....etc. In fact, they spend so much time looking for these items, I am forced to assume that they enjoy looking for stuff more than they enjoy having stuff.

There is even a holiday that they devote to training their younglings to search for lost items. Every year, on a Sunday in late Spring, adult two leggers rise while their young still sleep and sneak out into the yard. Quietly and stealthily they proceed  to hide garishly colored egg thingies in bushes, tufts of grass and various other hidey-holes. Like large mutant squirrels hiding nuts for the Winter, they take great care in the placement of each egg thingy. They even intentionally hide a few where they won't be found until late Summer when the stench becomes unbearable. Once all the egg thingies have been hidden, they waken the juveniles, hand them woven baskets and inform them that a mythical bunny has stolen all their eggs and hidden them outside.

Thus a desire to search for lost items is instilled from childhood.

Given my generous nature, I decided that I would assist in their amusement.

Since midnight, I have hidden no fewer than 25 objects throughout my house.

Tomorrow promises to be a most exciting day for the two leggers from the outset. Their alarm clock has been silenced and hidden in the hall closet. The knob to the thermostat has been removed and swatted under the stove. Miscellaneous items of jewelry have been relocated. The male's wallet has found a new home in one of the female's boots and the car keys lie in a shallow grave in the Royal Litter Box.

I eagerly anticipate their excitement tomorrow when they realize that their day shall be spent in a series of amusing and challenging searches.

As another example of my generous nature, when the two leggers come to thank me for their day of entertainment (as they will undoubtedly do), I will not take all the credit.

I'll tell them it was Tiger Lily's idea.

The Stalking Dead

As Halloween approaches, I find myself pondering things that seem to frighten two leggers. In the past I have posted about vampires, werewolves (and their young, weewolves) ghost thingies and Miley Cyrus. I even re-wrote Poe's "The Raven" last year.

But this year, I thought I'd cover an even scarier subject....

They are all over the media these days. Movies and TV shows are made about them. Parties are thrown in honor of them. It seems everywhere one turns, there is someone speaking of them and how scary they are.

They are mindless creatures that attack two legger society, causing fear, leaving death and destruction in their wake. They seek to destroy civilization and bring an end to the two legger race with their insatiable hunger.

However, I have always made it a rule when writing my blog thingy to never speak of politics, so instead I'll tell you about ZOMBIES!

First of all let me state for the record that of all the two legger bugaboos, zombies scare me the least. I mean think about it:
1. They are incapable of individual thought.
2. They feed only on two legger brains. (Darn scarce commodity)
3. They shamble.

How can anyone possibly be afraid of anything that shambles? If one starts to chase you, simply walk away. You don't even have to walk briskly. A slow meander should be enough. You could even stop at the corner coffee shop and get a grande' triple caramel, low-fat, half-caff, vente', extra whip, raspberry machiotto  light on the sprinkles, mocha latte' with a cinnamon stick before they even got close enough to make you nervous.

Zombies have evolved over the years. Originally they were the work of Voodoo practitioners in West Africa, the Caribbean Islands and along the American Gulf Coast.They were freshly dead two leggers who had some kind of spell thingy cast upon them to re-animate them. They were then sent forth to do the priest's bidding. They did not seek to eat the brains of their victims, but rather served as large, dumb, thug-like tools.

Not unlike mall security guards.

Somewhere along the way, a group of zombies was captured by a Hollywood producer and forced to "reinvent" themselves. The producer convinced the zombies that they were not scary enough to make a living (un-living?) in movies. They needed a "schtick", a gimmick, something to make them stand out from the rest of the population of California.

"Eureka! I've got it!" the producer exclaimed. "Babe, you gotta eat brains! You know, lurch around and crack peoples skulls, chew on their heads!"

The zombies replied, "URRRRRRGGGHHHH.........."

"That's the spirit, babe! Do more of that stuff! I smell a franchise!", the producer schmoozed. "Now get this, you will be virtually unstoppable! You will have superhuman strength (except when it comes to boarded-up windows and those pesky doorknobs)! You will be totally impervious to fire, ice and electricity!"

"URRRRRRRRRGGGGHHH!!!!!!" Enthused the zombies.

"You will be completely unstoppable!", raved the producer. "Oh yeah, unless the hero shoots you in the head, then you're toast".

"URGG??"

Thus was the modern zombie created. A Hollywood producer and a germ thingy created a new race of terrifying monsters

But I still cannot get past the whole shambling bit. 

So I have decided to create my own zombie. I already have the basic components. Ivan will serve as the brainless, thuggish, unstoppable creature. Tiger Lily will provide the haunting and irritating sounds that send chills through the souls of two two leggers. Jaq will hide in the closet and sing Michael Jackson's "Thriller" and possibly Blue Oyster Cult's "Don't Fear The Reaper".

We are all prepared for our annual Halloween shennaigans.

I have even corrected the shambling issue. Every night, Ivan gets several small food morsels as a "midnight treat". Tonight, I replaced his snack with espresso beans.

And thus I have created the most terrifying beast known to man and dog thingies.......

The ZOOMBIE!